


Ordinary Magic (rev.)

by Fintan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fintan/pseuds/Fintan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stood up from his desk and crossed to the open window, drawing in a shaky breath of night air before looking up at the sky. “Okay, Mom, I’m listening in real time. So tell me, is there some magic in me or am I just hoping? I mean, yeah, you always told me I was special, but that’s just a thing you say to kids, isn’t it?”</p><p>If there was a message in the stars, Stiles couldn’t read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary Magic (rev.)

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks to the very wonderful ScarlettWoman710 for her beta work on this story, not to mention her appreciation and encouragement.

“No,” said Sheriff Stilinski. “No, that’s not true.” He abruptly turned away from Derek and walked toward the kitchen. Derek didn’t know what to do. Could he walk out the Stilinski front door and leave? Could he run from this house as far as his supernatural strength could carry him? Could he run and never stop? But at the ragged end, with his last breath, he knew he couldn’t outrun the pain waiting to break him, the pain he was feeling now.

 

The Sheriff came back into the foyer, but said nothing. He looked at Derek as if waiting for him to take back his words. The certainty in his posture was almost frightening. The weight of all that had happened pushed against Derek, driving him to floor on his hands and knees. A terrible keening came out of his throat, a crazed animal sorrow.

 

“Get back on your feet,” snapped the Sheriff. He pointed to the living room. “You’re going to sit down and tell me everything that happened – every last detail. Now.”

 

Derek used the wall to support himself as he struggled back on his feet. Breathing felt beyond his abilities, let alone words. “I can’t,” he protested, but it sounded feeble even to his own ears.  Derek felt the sharp crack of a hand across his face, then the Sheriff fisted Derek’s shirt and pulled him close.

 

“Stiles is not dead,” said the Sheriff. “Do not contradict me again.”

 

 ***

 

“Oh my god,” snorted Stiles. “Tree moss? I can substitute pine moss for liverwort? I was never going to be able to find liverwort outside of a trip to England, but pine moss is everywhere in these our piney woods. You are the most generous and practical Wiccan ever! On the next full moon, praises will be sung to Our Lady in your honor.”

 

Delia laughed. It was a surprisingly dirty hiccup of a laugh to come from such a sweet-faced, motherly woman. Stiles had found her through Google Search. He’d typed in “Wiccan Priestess, Beacon Hills,” and one click later there was her contact info, plus a one-line description: “If this were Oz, I’d be Glinda.” Google search, man.  Works miracles every time.

 

Delia agreed to meet him at the coffee bar in Whole Foods during her break from her cashier duties. Stiles adored her instantly, and lucky for him, it looked like the feeling was mutual. Her knowledge of spells and incantations was dazzling, especially her very practical advice on viable substitutions for the necessary ingredients in spells.

 

“I don’t know a Wiccan worth her salt who doesn’t enjoy a little moon praise,” Delia grinned. “Knock yourself out, kid. Be sure to mention my womanly allure.” She peered a little closer at Stiles and smiled. “Although that may be lost on you.” Stiles blushed lightly, but Delia squeezed his hand. “Rule number one, baby: love is love. That’s all the Our Lady cares about.”

 

“You’re the best,” said Stiles reverently. He squeezed her hand in thanks and then reached for his backpack. “Hold on a second,” Delia said. “You still haven’t told me what this spell is for.”

 

Stiles hesitated. “Hey,” said Delia, “there is honesty among the honorable and yes, I am so judging you at this moment.”

 

“Okay,” said Stiles, “I’m just taking a moment to figure out how little I can tell you and still be true to you.”

 

Delia chuckled. “Well, that’s honest. Look, Stiles, I don’t mean to pry, but I pray to Our Lady that you don’t think magic is some sort of video game. There’s no reset button. In magic, “game over” is a permanent state.”

 

Stiles paused.  “I have these amazing friends and I want to learn ways to protect them,” said Stiles finally, tracing the edge of the coffee table with his thumb.

 

“Tell me about your friends,” Delia said, leaning back in her chair.

 

“My friends … have animal spirits, great and noble animal spirits. But so many people don’t understand what they are and wish to hurt them.” Stiles shrugged. “I love them and I want to help them if the Goddess will allow it.”

 

After a moment, Delia stood up and sighed. “The Goddess favors the good and you, sweet cheeks, are the good. But be careful.” Delia touched his face softly. “When invoking the Goddess there is one simple rule. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want your mother to know. Blessed be, Stiles.”

 

 ***

 

Scott slumped into a chair besides Stiles in the lunchroom. Several seconds of silence passed before Stiles sighed and said, “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What’s Allison doing today?” Stiles smirked in his best bro’s direction only to realize that Scott hadn’t heard him. He looked unfocused, which was not unusual when Allison’s name was mentioned, but seem exaggerated even by Scott’s standards. Suddenly, Scott sneezed wetly.

 

“Dude,” protested Stiles, “vampire sneezes.” He demonstrated by lifting his arm and putting his elbow over his mouth. “That way you don’t put your germy hands on other things people touch – especially my Tater Tots,” said Stiles, brandishing his plastic fork in a quasi-threatening fashion. “I can’t believe you haven’t committed to memory the only piece of actual wisdom ever offered by Coach Finstock.”

 

“Sorry,” Scott sniffed. “Allergies, I guess. Sucks.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Stiles sympathetically. “I sure wouldn’t want to be taking a history exam when my mind was mush.”

 

Scott’s eyes widened in horror. Stiles groaned.

 

By the end of the school day, Stiles had noticed that Scott wasn’t alone in his suffering. Boyd and Isaac were also too tired for lacrosse practice. Stiles offered them a drive over to Derek’s loft so they could commiserate together. He smirked to himself at the idea of cranky Derek having to contend with his cranky cubs. Would he make them chicken soup or just throw live chickens in their general direction?

 

Boyd sneezed. “Dude,” admonished Stiles, “Vampire sneezes.” He demonstrated the gesture.

 

“Kiss by fuzzy werewolf butt,” replied Boyd.

 

“Ew,” said Stiles. Isaac rolled his eyes. “I bet you wouldn’t say that if it was _Derek_ _’_ _s_ fuzzy werewolf butt.” Stiles found himself momentarily speechless.

 

“Derek should be so lucky,” said Scott.

 

Stiles grinned. “I am Stiles Stilinski and I am the proud possessor of the bestest best bro in the history of the best bro universe!”

 

“Damn straight,” replied Scott smugly, sinking further down into the passenger seat.

 

Derek did not seem pleased to see the boys arrive. They immediately sprawled across the sofas and the living area floor and started whining to be taken care of. Stiles nudged Derek. “At least they’re too tired to argue over video games.” Stiles glanced at Derek, hoping he liked the joke, but Derek’s expression seemed unfocused as well. “Not you, too,” groaned Stiles sympathetically. Derek shrugged and flopped back onto the couch.

 

Stiles glanced at his watch. “Promised Dad I’d stop at the market. Sorry, but I gotta go. I’ll check in with you later. Rest, okay? Lots of liquids.”

 

Stiles was halfway out the door when a thought occurred to him. He stepped back inside and looked at Derek quizzically.

 

“Can werewolves even get allergies?”

 

A dull realization came to Derek’s eyes. “No,” he replied darkly. “We can’t.”

 

*** 

 

A spring night on the preserve was still damp, but there was the sweet, itchy fragrance of budding trees and plants in the air. Derek’s face suddenly looked pinched. He grappled in his coat pocket and managed to pull out a handkerchief before he sneezed.

 

“A handkerchief, “ marveled Stiles.  “Classy.”

 

“My mother was big on handkerchiefs,” mumbled Derek. “It’s probably stupid.”

 

“No, no, it’s not! Or … maybe it is, I don’t know, but the thing is – all the things I argued with my mother about -- now I just do them. It’s like all her instructions were little time bombs in my head that detonate years later. I’ve become the kind of guy who does exactly what his mother told him to do,” Stiles laughed. “It’s so unfair.”

 

Derek looked at Stiles with deep fondness. Stiles felt warmed and a bit embarrassed under Derek’s gaze. “Admit it. You totally get me, irritant that I am,” Stiles said proudly.

 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said.  Underneath the nasal voice and snot, Stiles would even swear Derek sounded a little fond.

 

“Dream on, wolf man. You love the Stiles-spiel. That’s why you left the cubs at home tonight and went on patrol alone with me.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Maybe,” he grumbled. “Plus whining, sneezing cubs are not exactly stealthy.”

 

Eventually, Derek decided that they (read: he) needed a break and they settled under a tree to rest. Stiles glanced around the preserve. “Anything seem off to you?”

 

Derek tried to concentrate, then sighed and shrugged. “With my head stuffed up like this, I feel like I’m flying half-blind.”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Stiles began. Derek groaned, making Stiles scowl. “What,” huffed Stiles.

 

“There’s some history here,” said Derek. “When you say you’ve been thinking, my wolf brain wants to howl against whatever you’re going to say next.”

 

“And the human part of your brain?”

 

“Knows that I need to pay attention to the smartest person in the room. What’s up, Stiles?”

 

“It’s kind of genius, isn’t it, to find a seemingly innocent way to handicap werewolf super-powers? Since you can’t get sick, can’t have colds or allergies, then whatever is happening to the pack is out of the natural order, isn’t it? There is an intelligence behind this.” Derek nodded in agreement. “Which means…?”

 

“Magic,” replied Derek. “Bad magic.”

 

“Hey hey, slow down,” said Stiles. “We don’t know that and it’s ignorant to assume that all magic is bad. There’s good magic, too.” Derek snorted. “Give it a rest, Derek. What’s happening to you could be incidental to something else. Some magic is good.”

 

“Not in my experience,” Derek said sullenly.

 

“Hey! I’m not in your experience?” asked Stiles in mock outrage.

 

Stiles could feel Derek’s mood darken. Derek turned to look him directly. “Why do you keep thinking that you’re not enough?”

 

Stiles was startled by the accusation. “I never said that.”

 

“I think you _are_ saying that,” Derek protested. “Every time you play with magic, I think you’re trying to make yourself in to something you’re not - Stiles the Mage, Stiles the supernatural wizard boy. It’s dangerous and I don’t like it. You’re enough; you’re more than most of us can handle, but could you please stop trying to be so important? It’s having the opposite effect.”

 

Derek’s words stung Stiles into silence.

 

“I’m too tired to argue tonight,” said Derek. “Take the Jeep and go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 

Without a word Stiles pushed to his feet. He paused, but then turned abruptly and walked to his car without looking back.

 

“Shit,” Derek sighed, rubbing a clammy hand over his forehead as he watched Stiles’s form disappear into the trees.

 

 ***

 

Stiles drove home, went to his room and stripped to his boxers and a sweatshirt before opening his laptop. For a few moments he sat staring at the monitor trying to concentrate, but couldn’t. He opened his photo folder and pulled up a picture of his mother. He searched the image of her smiling face for several moments. “Am I making it all up? Am I just…”

 

Stiles stood up from his desk and crossed to the open window, drawing in a shaky breath of night air before looking up at the sky.  “Okay, Mom, I’m listening in real time. So tell me, is there some magic in me or am I just hoping? I mean, yeah, you always told me I was special, but that’s just a thing you say to kids, isn’t it?”

 

If there was a message in the stars, Stiles couldn’t read it.

 

After a moment, he flopped down on his bed. A small tendril of loss took hold in his heart and a dark blossom of doubt began to bloom in his mind. Grabbing his pillow he curled into himself and covered his face because no one wants to hear a boy cry, especially the boy.

 

 ***

 

As Stiles crossed the school parking lot, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out to find a text from Scott.

 

“Worse today. Staying home. You wouldn't believe the mucus.”

 

Gross, thought Stiles. He quickly replied, “Do not need the mental picture, thank you.”

 

“It’s really thick and the color of…”

 

Stiles quickly shoved the phone back into the pocket then wiped his fingers on his jeans. He shuddered and then continued his trek toward the Admin Building before something caught his eye.

 

Tiny green flowers, almost invisible against the grass, covered the sports field. Stiles plucked one and sniffed at it. Its perfume was surprisingly intense and … wrong.

 

 ***

 

Delia twirled the tiny blossom in her hand. “Yeah, “ she said, “That’s not possible. You having a little joke on the good witch?” Delia shoved the little flower back into his hand and continued price stamping cereal boxes on Aisle 8.

 

“No, I’m not. They are all over the sports field and … everywhere. The seeds must be wind-blown, because I saw little patches of these flowers all over town while I was driving here.”

 

“I think it’s a form of flax,” says Delia, “but an extinct form. Flax doesn’t even have a perfume, at least in our times. I think it used to be native to North America, but this variety is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

 

Stiles thought this over. “Would ancient witches have used this?”

 

“Since we’re talking about the Americas, let’s use the word ‘shaman’. Most certainly; it would have been part of a primal world and a more primal magic.” Delia eyed the tiny green blossom warily. “Get rid of it, okay?”

 

“That may not be possible. I think it’s spreading like a botanical virus.”

 

“Do you know where this … propagation began?” asked Delia.

 

“No,” said Stiles. “But I have some ideas that I’m going to investigate.”

 

Delia put down her price gun and placed both hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “This is where I give the standard pagan speech about respect for nature in all its forms. I say this not just out of respect for nature, but for our own protection as well. However, if we’re dealing with an unnatural nature, there is a whole other magnitude of danger. “

 

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “Not good, but you know what’s confusing me? You’re price-stamping Honey-Coated Sugar Bombs. Is there anything more unnatural? But I love them in all their artificial flavored, sugar-coated unnaturalness.”

 

Delia looked thoughtful. “Maybe there’s a twelve-step program. Investigate that, too, while you’re at it.” She price stamped Stiles’ shirt.

 

“Hey,” said Stiles in mock indignation, “I didn’t know I was on sale. Shouldn’t we talk about this first?”

 

 ***

 

Some day old bakery goods seemed like a plausible non-apology apology. Even if Derek was an ass, Stiles hated it when they were fighting, but he couldn’t back down either so … day old pastries. The plan was to just drop them off at Derek’s loft and leave, but Scott was waiting for him at the door.

 

“Buddy, you look not adorable,” said Stiles.

 

Scott shrugged. “It’s not easy being me.”

 

Stiles laughed and pushed the bag at him. “Here, sugar and fat -- and you’re supposed to share.”

 

Scott was already ripping the apple Danish apart. “What? I didn’t here that last thing you said.”

 

“How’s the gang?” asked Stiles.

 

“Crashed. Dude, Derek snores so bad,” Scott said around a mouthful of pastry.

 

“Probably the allergies,” replied Stiles.

 

Scott smiled. “You always defend him.”

 

“I do not. Oh my god, Scott, I’m the guy who rides his ass.” Scott raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Thank you so much for letting that one slide,” Stiles laughed awkwardly. “So … I’m going to go. Yeah.”

 

“You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“Fine, okay, stop hounding me.” Stiles sighed and started fiddling with his hoodie string, wrapping it around his fingers.  “Truth time, okay? Am I just some jerky kid who tries too hard to hang out with the cool kids? I’ve been telling myself, hoping I guess, that I’m something more, but – it’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

 

Scott swallowed a mouthful of danish.  “Just shut up, dude.”

 

“Okay, yeah,” replied Stiles, ego wounded. “I’ll… just go.”

 

“No, dumbass, I… I can’t always say the things I feel, even though I feel them so bad. My brain, words, ugh. But you’ve got to know that you saved me, Stiles. Long before there were any werewolves, you saved me. I don’t really want to put words to it, but for all the surrealness of my life, you are, fuck, the North Star. More times than I can stand, my life is something out of a horror movie, but the most fantastic thing in my life is your friendship. Naked honesty, bro, I couldn't make it without you.”

 

Stiles leaned against the wall and used it to slowly sit down. He took a few careful, forced breaths and squeezed his eyes shut as tears slid down his cheeks. He focused all his energy on not making any embarrassing noises at the back of his throat. Scott sat down next to him, nudged his shoulder, and held the bag open.

 

“The cruller is mind-blowing. Seriously.”

 

 ***

 

Some jokes, some pastry, and a long hug later, Stiles left for home. Scott reentered the loft and found Derek sitting in the living room. “So, you heard all that?” Derek nodded. “Stiles brought this for you.” Scott held up the bag with the remaining food, crumbled it into a ball, and then threw it hard at Derek’s face.

 

Derek batted it away. “What the hell, Scott?”

 

“Shut up,” seethed Scott. “I hate you so much right now. We’re supposed to be, what, pack allies? But this is why I don’t respect you.”

 

“I’m not responsible for Stiles’ insecurities,” Derek said, face settling into a scowl.

 

“Liar,” replied Scott with absolute conviction.

 

He let the word hang in the air and then crossed to the sofa and grabbed his coat. “The thing that kills me? He is so out of your league. He is love and kindness and so vastly better than anything you deserve.”

 

Derek said nothing and that nothing became significant.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t. Hell, no. You do not get to agree with me,“ Scott said, shaking his head angrily.

 

Derek grimaced in frustration. “Pick one, Scott. Pick one and hit me with that.”

 

But Scott was right on both counts and was there anything in Derek’s miserable world more irritating than Scott McCall being right?

 

 ***

 

Pain comes at you impossibly fast; split-second disasters, over before you can even form a thought, but then they live forever in the hell of slow motion memory.

 

Part of Derek is stuck eternally in a moment in high school. In that moment he’s just a student in chemistry class, mixing solvents in a beaker. He has a secret, his alone. Well, his and Kate’s. All the guys boasting about what their girls would let them do in the dark – it was funny. Kate had let Derek all the way in and it was so amazing, so unbelievable and he wasn’t going to share that with anyone. Kate-and-Derek-Land was a thrill ride for two, only two. Maybe he even felt it was sacred and that he was honored by her trust and permission. It made him want to be a better man.

 

Then the next moment happens. Mr. Hughes, the vice principal, enters the room and confers quietly with the teacher. She nods and then points to Derek. Why is she pointing at me, thought Derek. His heart caught. Had someone told? How could anyone know? But he could see the vice-principal indicating that Derek should follow him out. “Take your books,” he said.

 

How much time passed – a minute? Then Derek is in the corridor with the vice- principal who is looking at him but trying to avoid his eyes. Some small prescient corner of Derek’s brain knew that something terrible was about to happen, something irrevocable. Whatever this man would say next, Derek’s life would change forever. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

 

“Derek, there’s been a fire. It’s your family. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

 

No, said a rebellion in his brain. I was bad. I was – I shouldn’t have had sex, but punish me, not my family. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please take those words back. Please take them back.

 

There, that’s the sticking point of Derek’s endless torment. His family died for his sins. Because he let his dick do something wrong. Later, when he found out that Kate had used him as a way to kill his family, nothing changed in his head. All he could ever be in this world is guilty.

 

In the moment of Derek’s eternal sorrow, he sits on a stool in chemistry class. He’s mixing solvents in a beaker. He doesn’t even notice the ground opening beneath his feet.

 

 ***

 

Stiles slowly drove the perimeter road around the preserve. All the people there were trespassing. The preserve was the private property of the Hale estate, but many people used it as a park. Most folks were good about picking up their trash, maybe not the couples who went there to park at night, but most people. Some even cleaned up the mess of others.

 

Stiles smiled and nodded at an old man in woven clothes and a sun hat who carried a knapsack for the trash he was cleaning up. The old man either ignored or didn’t see Stiles wave. There was something interesting about him. Stiles wondered if maybe the old man was an old woman, which would be so cool.  Stiles loved people who crossed borders. He wanted to talk to them, but before he got the chance they turned away from Stiles and headed further into the preserve.

 

Stiles watched as his person of interest reached into the knapsack. It wasn’t to stash some trash, it was to pull something out: a fistful of seed, which was then tossed all over the ground. Oh, thought Stiles.

 

Stiles parked the Jeep and thought frantically about what he should do next. At just that moment a text message arrived from Scott. “I believe in U, buddy. UR the best.”

 

Stiles laughed. “Belief. I forgot. That’s how magic works. Belief.” He glanced up at the sky. “Really, Mom? Sending me messages through Scott? You are so cool.”

 

Just like that, he knew what to do. Stiles mumbled a small centering prayer and then climbed out of the car.

 

 ***

 

“What happened?” asked the Sheriff evenly.

 

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “No one was there to see it. But… I felt it. Scott did, too. We raced to the preserve, and Lydia and Allison had the sense to get Deaton on the way over. “

 

“What did you find?”

 

“Scorched earth. They had fought, whoever the magician was, Stiles and the magician had fought.”

 

“Actual fire? The fight had burned the ground?” clarified the Sheriff.

 

“Deaton doesn’t think so. He doesn’t think Stiles went after the mage. He thinks Stiles had a spell to kill the plants. It worked. The ground looked scorched, but it was only the pestilent flowers that were killed. The mage discovered what Stiles had done and attacked Stiles while he was trying to escape.”

 

“This mage...?”

 

“No sign of him,” said Derek. “We tried to trace the scent, but there was nothing. No body, no remains of any kind. What ever it was, it’s gone.”

 

“What did he do to Stiles? Cuts, bruises, broken bones?”

 

“It’s not like that. There’s no visible trauma to the body, but …” Derek was struggling to breathe. “He had no life signs.”

 

“Is he at the hospital?” said the Sheriff.

 

“He’s at Deaton’s. We had to. All the hospital would do is declare him dead.”

 

The Sheriff gritted his teeth. “I told you not to use that word.” Derek flinched like a man about to be hit, but would do nothing to stop the blow.

 

The Sheriff stood up. “C’mon. You’re taking me to Deaton’s.”

 

 ***

 

What the Sheriff found striking was everyone’s need to touch Stiles’ body. They were gathered around the examining table, Lydia, Boyd, Allison, Danny, and Isaac, each touching his chest, a leg or an arm. Scott was resting his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. His voice was high and strained as he called to him as if he were a lost child. “Stiles, come back, okay? Just…come back. I need you, okay? Come back. _Please_ , Stiles.”

 

Boyd stood aside to let the Sheriff closer to Stiles’ body. For a moment, the Sheriff’s face began to crack with grief, but a voice in his head said, no, that wouldn’t help, so he made himself stop. He glanced at Derek who stood, sick with grief, in the corner of the room.

 

Finally the Sheriff looked at Deaton. “Talk to me.”

 

“No heartbeat, no brain activity, motor function gone.”

 

“Are you saying he’s dead?” said the Sheriff.

 

“Sheriff, we’re dealing with magic. I have some knowledge and I’ve been talking to everyone I know. There seems to be a consensus that Stiles battled with an Eternal. They live so long, that they lose their humanity. Their magic is immensely powerful. There may be no antidote, no reverse spell that anyone is capable of.”

 

“Dead or not dead?” asked the Sheriff bluntly.

 

Deaton sighed and shook his head. “From the perspective of human life, Stiles is gone. I’m sorry.”

 

The Sheriff was trying to think, but this moment understanding was beyond the reach of his mind.

 

“There are spells for preservation and I’ll use them,” said Deaton, “but, Sheriff, his body? He’ll have to be interred. We’ll have to make arrangements.”

 

Bury Stiles? Bury his son? A complete thought finally formed in the Sheriff’s mind. No, it said.

 

A guttural howl ripped the air in the room.

 

“Derek, stop!” yelled Scott, but the words were lost on Derek, who had transformed fully into his wolf. Derek snarled viciously at the people around Stiles.

 

“Back away,” said Deaton in a low, careful voice. “He’s not in his mind anymore. He could do anything. Step back.”

 

The pack slowly stepped away, Scott the most reluctantly. Derek continued to snarl at them until Stiles’ body was clear and then he clambered up on the table. With all four legs, he stood astride Stiles body. His howls reduced to whimpers. He licked Stiles face repeatedly. It was a plea for mercy, but like all of Derek’s pleas, it went unanswered.

 

In desperation, the wolf lay down on top of Stiles and pressed his muzzle into Stiles’ neck. He keened a low, piteous cry.

 

Scott took a half step forward. “Derek, you can’t…” The wolf bared his teeth and snarled viciously at Scott. If Scott took another step, there would be blood.

 

“Everyone out of the room,” said the Sheriff.

 

“The Sheriff is right,” said Deaton. We need to leave him alone. Let’s go,” said Deaton. The pack filed sadly out of the room, except for one person. Deaton glanced back. “Sheriff?”

 

“I’m staying,” he said.

 

“It’s dangerous,” warned Deaton. “Derek is in animal grief.”

 

“Yeah,” said the Sheriff. “We have that in common.”

 

Deaton shook his head, and then exited the room closing the door behind him.

The wolf’s eyes were crazed. The Sheriff knew better than to approach the table, so he grabbed a chair and sat in full sight of Derek.

 

“Why does everyone think I don’t know magic?” asked the Sheriff. “Okay, maybe werewolves and spells and incantations are new to me, but not magic. I know all about magic. It’s the realest thing in my life.”

 

“Stiles’ mother --.” The Sheriff voice caught in his throat; he had to take a few ragged breaths before continuing. “Stiles’ mother was magic. Jesus God, that woman. To this day I don’t know what she saw in me. She was seriously out of my league. But she loved me and her love transformed me. I was an angry guy trying to get by and then overnight I began a man who wanted to be worthy of her love. That’s magic, Derek.”

 

The wolf lifted his head off of Stiles. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but then he turned his eyes to meet the Sheriff’s eyes.

 

“You always look at me as if I don’t get you, as if I’m not a friend, but I think you feel for Stiles what I felt for his mother, so maybe I get you a little. Love is magic, Derek. People forget because love is somehow ordinary. Maybe, but it doesn’t make it any less powerful.”

 

The wolf closed his eyes and winced as if in pain.

 

“Now here’s something else that I know but can’t explain in any way other than the magic. Stiles’ isn’t dead. If Stiles weren’t still in this world with me… I would know. It’s been a lot of years, Derek, but I can still feel the empty space where his mother used to be. My son has a very big spirit. He’s still here. I can feel him.”

 

The Sheriff waited for his words to sink in and then watched as the wolf transformed back into a man, a naked man lying across Stiles’ body.

 

“Sorry,” mumbled Derek.

 

“Don’t bother,” replied the Sheriff. “I’ve seen a naked man before. What I’m also seeing is the man who holds the magic to bring my son back to me.”

 

Derek leaned up on his elbows and stared at the Sheriff with wild eyes. “Anything. _Anything_.”

 

“The first part is going to hurt,” warned the Sheriff.

 

“I don’t care about pain,” said Derek. He pulled himself off Stiles and stood up. “What do I do?”

 

“I don’t mean physical pain. You could take any amount of that. No, I have to ask you for something that you think is beyond your abilities. It’s a transformation.”

 

“You’ve just seen me turn from a wolf in to a man,” Derek said. “What do you need?”

 

“What I need,” replied the Sheriff, “is for you to transform yourself into a man who believes he is worthy of love.”

 

Derek grimaced, clenched his teeth, and fought back a sob.

 

“I made that transformation,” said the Sheriff. “You can, too.”

 

“But I’m not.  I’m not.  I -”

 

“My son thinks you are. Do you love him or not?”

 

“I would give my life for his,” Derek insisted, but the Sheriff waved him away.

 

“That not what I asked,” he said. “Dying for someone turns out to be easier than living for someone. When Stiles’ mother died -- I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to be with her, but there was Stiles and -- I decided to live for him because – because I love him. Do you love Stiles enough to live?”

 

It may have only been a matter of moments, but the tectonic plates of Derek’s soul shifted. He lifted his head. “I love him.”

 

“This is how I know love is magic. You just said three words and the world changed. You just became an entirely different man. Now -- it’s time to step up to the plate, son. Bring your love together.”

 

“How?” asked Derek. “Is there a ritual or a spell or something?  Are there words I’m supposed to say?”

 

“People use words, but it’s more about feeling. There is a kind of ritual, but like I told you – ordinary magic.”

 

It took Derek a moment to realize what the Sheriff meant. When he saw the understanding in Derek’s eyes, the Sheriff turned toward the door.

 

“I’m going outside." At the door, he stopped for a moment to look back. “Derek,” he said quietly. “I get it now. I know why Stiles loves you.”

 

Derek listened to the click of the shutting door, then the turned toward the table and gently lifted Stiles into a seated position. He whispered three, perhaps unnecessary, words in Stiles ear and then put all of his soul into the most ancient of rituals.

 

They kissed.

 

 ***

 

The Sheriff stayed seated in the foyer through all the screams of joy and tears. Everybody needed to hug Stiles and kiss him. The Sheriff thought the best thing he could do was sit very quietly and continue to breathe. After several minutes, Derek came looking for him.  ”Stiles,” he called, peeking his head back through the door.  “He’s in here.”

 

Stiles entered the room on shaky legs, but when he saw his dad, they were capable of running. They met in the middle of the room and pulled each other in close. “Dad,” he cried. “Baby boy,” mumbled the Sheriff into his ear.

 

It was a long hug with no end in sight. “You have to let go,” said the Sheriff kindly. “Nope, not gonna,” replied Stiles. “Well, I’m not letting go either,” said the Sheriff, “but I might be willing to share.” Over Stiles shoulder, he saw Derek. He motioned him with his hand.

 

“Get in here,” said the Sheriff.

 

 ***

 

The Sheriff crossed the parking lot toward his car. The night was beginning to fade, but he could still see the stars. He searched the sky until his eyes settled on the particular light of a particular star.

 

“Hey,” he said. “I love you. I miss you.”

 

He opened the car door, climbed inside, but before starting the engine he glanced once more toward the night sky.

 

“Our boy is in love. Real love. You and me love. I have so much to tell you.”

 

The Sheriff put the car in reverse, backed out of the space, and then drove out of the lot. He kept talking. From outside it may have looked like a man talking to himself, but only to people who don’t understand magic.


End file.
